Sea Vines
by Exia
Summary: She was Dead. Irikah. Lover. Wife. Siha. Corpse.


She was Dead.

Irikah.

Lover.

Wife.

Siha.

Corpse.

The warm water from the sky above Kahje poured down his face, tears that he would not shed for the woman he refused to let go. The batarians had beaten her before they'd killed her, the delicate scales on her back and sides colored a deep purple from the bruises that would never fade. Small amounts of acid had been injected under the skin of her face to relax the muscles from the look of intense pain that they'd been trapped in moments before her death.

He'd been away, killing people in the defense of others instead of killing to defend his own family. As much as he'd tried to keep his job far from his family, it didn't matter. She was dead, and it was his _fault_. He'd hunted and killed the batarian leader, so they'd hunted and killed his heart.

The dead organ inside of his chest still beat, but all that was good and right in his world had been ripped from him the day he got the notice, pinned to his door with a knife; his wife was dead.

He watched her body sink beneath the sea, his arm around his son's shoulders, and wondered how it was that the sun still traveled the sky. One of the Arashu's avatars was dead, her light gone forever from the world, and yet nothing had changed.

The procession to the sea was small, Kolyat's Aunt and Uncle the only members of Irikah's family that could make the funeral on such short notice. His continued absence from his wife's side had stilted their social life to the point that it seemed that none would miss her but the dead assassin and the small boy who cried and raged against his father's grasp.

The hanar sang for her, their bright colors flashing together in harmony as they spoke of her departure from this world only to be kindled again in a different form, but he found no solace from their words. No matter what they said, or how they tried to lessen the blow, Irkah was _dead_ and nothing would change that. He hadn't appreciated the Arashu's gift to him, and Kalahira had taken her away.

He blinked, and the funeral was over. Irikah's sister approached, gently tugging the sobbing Kolyat from his arms and into her own where the young boy clung, his crying a sharp wail against the roar of the sea. There wasa reproach and sympathy in her eyes as she looked up at him, but he did not care. Irikah had been given to the sea, and he longed only to follow her.

She, who had laughed and played with him. She, who had given the gift of a childhood to the cold assassin who knew only death. For her, he revived his ability to paint. For her, he replicated the things he had seen while on the hunt, those small moments of pure rapture hidden amongst the darkness of his job.

The walls of their home were covered in the images he'd created for her. A small bird, extinct now that its patron was poisoned by a mysterious substance, hung above their kitchen sink, its feathers a riot of greens and yellows with a bright blue bill. In the den was the waterfall of ice frozen in perpetual motion that had been carefully maintained by a slaver. Their bedroom housed the brilliant flowers he'd seen through a scope right before he'd taken their master's life in the middle of the garden.

How had he not seen it before? Each of the gifts he'd given her had been tainted by death. Everything he touched, everything he loved, coated in a fine layer of decay. He looked down at his hands and saw them unstained, but not unmarked, by the life he'd lived.

He looked back to the water and took a step. Somewhere far beyond his pain, he heard the distraught voices of Irikah's family members calling out to him, the slap of little feet and a masculine shout, but the call of the sea was stronger. The cool water swirled around his toes, tugged at his knees, inviting him to sink into its depths with each receding wave.

The water was almost mid-thigh when he felt a small hand slip into his own. He looked down. Kolyat stared back at him, his eyes large and full of pain. He was six, and his mother was gone. Strong hands slipped under little shoulders, hoisting him into the sky. Water dripped down them both, little hands resting gently on muscled forearms as the sky cried for a lost Siha.

He bent his arms, bringing his son's shivering body close to his own as he turned away from the sea. Kolyat wrapped his arms fiercely around his father's neck, refusing to let go as the two of them emerge from the water. Relieved smiles greeted them, and father and son led the way towards their home.

Soon he would be taken by the sea and would be joined with Irikah again, but not today.

They approached from the back of the house; Irikah's flower garden was bent by more than just the rain. Whole patches of it had been torn and trampled by irreverent feet as they drug her, still resisting, from the house.

The dark bruises on Irikah's side flashed before his eyes, and an involuntary growl ripped itself free from his throat. The ones who had hurt her would pay. The ones who had ordered her death would pay. The ones who had known, but had done nothing, would pay.

They reached the house and he set Kolyat down, turning away to enter his private armory. He sent a message out to the Shadow-thief, asking her if she had some time to help an old friend. Tracking down all those responsible for Irikah's death would take valuable resources, but he was sure she wouldn't mind.

He bared his teeth in a mockery of a smile, his thoughts filled with blood. Irikah was dead, and she'd taken his heart with her. He would avenge her; then join her.

The Ghost had taken a mission, and he never failed.


End file.
